


Crush

by orphan_account



Category: DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 18:13:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3701701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a testament to how low Jason had sunk that he found this more flattering than creepy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crush

“I have a front door, you know.”  
  
“Yes, well, I have a rap sheet longer than the Constitution of our fine country. Which you tend to point out every time we meet. What do you want, Tim?”  
  
Tim was sitting on his douchey overpriced couch, wearing one of those douchey overpriced polo shirts of his which made him look a bunch of things Jason knew for a fact he wasn't, like unthreatening and wholesome and remarkably well-adjusted. He paired it with a patented Wayne Game Face, which in Jason's rather extensive experience generally preceded some massive bullshit which would inevitably end up screwing Jason's life for the foreseeable future.  
  
“Can't I just—”  
  
“No,” Jason said. “You never 'just' anything, Tim, and the two of us sure as hell don't ever 'just' anything, so let's cut the crap.”  
  
Tim's amiable smile blew out like a candle in a hurricane. It left him looking annoyed with Jason and in dire need of a nap, and Jason felt a pang of childish, petty triumph. It was really kind of hilarious; how alike Tim and Bruce were in their handling of interpersonal relationships. They could sell you the Brooklyn Bridge, Jason had to give them that, but even the best of game faces got old after a while and Jason hadn't been reborn yesterday.  
  
If those two weren't bossing people around, looking harried and irritated and deeply disappointed in the world in general, it was because they were playing you. And if they were playing you, it was because they wanted something from you, and for whatever reason have decided that shameless manipulation was their best bet.  
  
“Very well,” Tim sighed. “Come on, sit down.”  
  
“I'd rather not.”  
  
“Trust me, you want to be sitting down for this.”  
  
Jason sat, if only because arguing further would have seemed stupid and bratty even for him.  
  
“Okay, I'm sitting down. Hit me.”  
  
And Tim _did_ , alright.  
  
Jason couldn't even begin to make sense of what was happening, what was _obviously_ and _unmistakably_ happening here; Tim sliding off the couch to kneel at his feet, putting his hands on Jason's thighs, his calluses rasping over the denim of Jason's jeans.  
  
“Tim,” Jason said. He sounded eerily calm to his own ears. “What the fuck are you doing.”  
  
“Cutting the crap,” Tim said unhelpfully, and reached for Jason's fly.  
  
_Huh, I wonder what he's up to now_ , went Jason's brain, struggling to grasp the surreality of the situation and losing. Sadly, his dick had no such qualms. It was if a switch had been flipped; one moment he was sitting on Tim Drake's couch, wondering what the bats and birds were up to now, next thing he knew he was painfully hard and all but panting for it, not even really caring what 'it' entailed.  
  
Tim tugged on his shorts along with his jeans and Jason lifted his ass to help the proceedings along, pretty much on autopilot, and it was only when Tim wrapped a pale, elegant hand around his dick that reality came a knockin'.  
  
“Tim, what the _fuck_.”  
  
“Not a fuck, just a blowjob.”  
  
Jason boggled at him.  
  
“But _why_.”  
  
Tim sighed and sat back on his heels.  
  
“See, you should have let me explain first. Why, you ask. There are multiple reasons, but I suppose it all comes down to this: you want to get some but your disastrous circumstances make that near impossible, and I want to blow you. Does this suffice?”  
  
The crazy thing was, Tim wasn't saying anything untrue or even particularly surprising. Jason _had_ noticed Tim looking, and it hardly took Red Robin's investigative skills to uncover exactly why Jason wasn't seeing much action these days. Isabel had been his first and probably last attempt at messing around with a civilian, and then there was the demented 90s sitcom which was Jason's current living situation.  
  
Jason loved his best friends more than he could say, he really did, but he couldn't go on much longer like this. Roy wanted something simple and uncomplicated and normal and Jason got that, but Jason also got that 'simple' and 'uncomplicated' and 'normal' were never going to happen for the likes of them.  
  
The truth was that Kori and Jason had already banged each other six ways to Sunday before Roy had even come into the picture, and it hadn't done a thing except cement their life-long friendship. Kori was fucked up and tough and scrappy in much the same ways Jason was, and the sex had been phenomenal not in spite of but _because_ they had both known they were never going to have this big romantic monogamous what-the-fuck-ever that Roy seemed to think he and Kori had going on.  
  
Except what they _actually_ had going on was this screwed up ménage à trois where the only person who wasn't actively getting some was Jason. At this point Jason wasn't even sure if Roy was honestly having some kind of extremely belated gay panic now that he was sober and able to reflect on his preferences, or if he really only sucked dick when it was Grayson's. Either way, Jason'd had a thing for Roy since Jason had been a dumbass fifteen-year-old and Roy had been Grayson's somewhat unhinged wunderkind of a best friend, and Roy was constantly _touching_ him and dropping the l-word at every opportunity like it was the most natural thing in the world.  
  
And Tim had all of that figured out. It was a testament to how low Jason had sunk that he found this more flattering than creepy.  
  
“So what's the catch?”  
  
Tim rolled his eyes.  
  
“I realize this is a novel concept for you, Jason, but sometimes people just say what they actually mean and there's no catch, no fine print, no random bouts of axe murder or whatever the hell you're expecting.”  
  
“You know, you're pretty mouthy for a guy who's literally down on his knees begging for dick.”  
  
“Begging is a bit of an overstatement. I made an offer—take it or leave it. I'm not in the mood for games.”  
  
Tim did, in fact, look like he meant business. He generally did. Jason couldn't decide if that made the whole situation less or even more weird.  
  
“Okay, fine, you got me, I'm not the kind of crazy who'd turn down a surprise BJ.”  
  
“I know,” Tim agreed.  
  
He'd clearly expected this conversation to go down exactly the way it had, and normally Jason would have found that annoying. Normally Tim didn't follow up his know-it-all statements with wrapping those thin, humorless lips around the head of Jason's dick, though.  
  
“Holy shit.”  
  
Okay, Tim _clearly_ had this thing under control. Jason felt a little bit like a moth pinned to a cork board with those too-serious—always so goddamn _serious_ —blue eyes fixed on him, cataloging his reactions. It figured Tim would approach sex like hand-to-hand combat or a particularly tricky math problem. What a freak.  
  
Jason reached out slowly, giving Tim plenty of time to pull away, and when Tim didn't he let his hand land on the back of Tim's head, not pushing or anything but just resting there. Tim's hair felt simultaneously soft and stiff with product and Jason couldn't help wondering what it would smell like if he buried his face in it from behind, which brought up a whole series of mental images he _really_ didn't need at the moment: the long, graceful line of Tim's back, his milky-pale skin, narrow hips a perfect fit for Jason's hands.  
  
When Jason chanced a glance down, Tim was looking right back up at him as if he _knew_ , and that was all it took. He made some kind of sound in warning, but Tim stayed right where he was, swallowing spunk like he was going for the gold or an A+ or something. Unbelievable.  
  
“Well, that didn't take much,” Tim noted wryly like the total asshole he was.  
  
His lips were pink and wet and kind of swollen; Jason graciously let the remark slide.  
  
“So do you want me to...”  
  
“You don't have to.”  
  
Jason stared pointedly at Tim's crotch, and for the first time in this whole bizarro encounter, Tim looked somewhat ruffled.  
  
“You should go, Jason.”  
  
“You're serious.”  
  
“Am I ever not?”  
  
“Wow. Okay. So. Thanks, I guess?”  
  
Tim nodded and stood way more gracefully than Jason would've in his place.  
  
“Just so you know, this was really fucking weird and I sincerely hope it wasn't, like, a sex pollen situation because—”  
  
“ _Bye_ , Jason.”  
  
Jason went.  
  
He took the long way home, and while he ambled around he wondered if maybe he was to Tim what Roy was to Jason, what Grayson was to Roy and Kori (and Babs and Donna and Wally and just, like, what was _wrong_ with these people). If so; _poor kid_. Jason wondered if a sympathy-slash-thanks-for-blowing-me gift basket was in order.  
  
When he finally made it home, Roy and Kori were not-watching the latest Star Trek reboot and making out on the couch in what served as their living room, like Jason had asked them a million times not to. Jason dropped his jacket on their heads without comment, rescued the popcorn bowl from Kori's lap and settled in for what was left of the movie.  
  
The night was young; they'd have plenty of time to talk afterwards.


End file.
